


Guns and Pens

by ItsJustMeJamie



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alexander Hamilton is George Washington's Biological Son, Alexander is younger, American Revolution, Angst, Big Brother Laf, Death, Father-Son Relationship, Gun Violence, He doesn't know but George does, Historical Inaccuracy, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Multi, My First Fanfic, Suicide (mentioned), Why Did I Write This?, very short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 12:55:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11737488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsJustMeJamie/pseuds/ItsJustMeJamie
Summary: "George Washington was used to seeing him like this; thight grip around the pen, posture hunched over the General's documents. However, this time it was different."Or that one time where Alexander has to kill Washington but he does something else instead.





	Guns and Pens

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, so I finally decided to start writing fanfictions. 
> 
> Constructive criticism is welcomed as well as proposed amendments. Thanks for reading :)
> 
> I apologize in advance for misspelled words or grammar errors since English isn't my first language. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also funfact: This was inspired by a nightmare I had where my mother is Washington and I'm Alexander.

George Washington was used to seeing him like this; tight grip around the pen, posture hunched over the General's documents. However, this time it was different. Instead of a pen the boy was holding a gun, aiming the receiving end towards Washington's frozen body. His facial expression was stone cold, a thin layer of sweat on his forehead. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't hide the way his hands trembled as he stared at his General. 

Washington had asked many times why; why this young man, barely reaching adulthood, pointed the pistol at him. Alexander would answer with the same response almost every time. He would growl, aggressively whispering to stay away if he didn't want to be shot. George had never heard the boy whisper before; usually his voice would be sounding through the whole camp, almost as if his voice resembled the light as it illuminated the darkness with its silhouette. 

The aide soon began to shake even more, anxiety taking the better part of him. Washington wanted to reach out for him, wanted to take the trembling teen in his arms and tell him that he would be okay, but the cold metal between them stopped him. They stood in silence; the only sounds to be heard were Alexander's raged breathing and a campfire's wood cracking a few feet away from their tent. George wanted to break the quietness but quickly shut his mouth once Hamilton lowered his gun and a chocked laugh escaped his lips. 

"I - I can't do this!" He blurted out and in a swift motion he cocked the weapon at his own head, smiling sadly at the father - like person in front. The General's face was taken over by worry and his posture changed to a more alarmed one, ready to run for help. 

"What are you doing? This isn't like you, Alexander. Tell me what's going on, son." His voice grew softer during the end and he could see tears prickling at the corners of the eighteen years old's eyes. 

"I'm not your son!" The boy's usual response hung loosely in the room as he bit back a sob. 

"Alex, please, why are you doing -." The general's sentence got cut off by the sound of a gunshot. He felt sick and his eyes wouldn't focus on the boy that collapsed like a broken chair. 

He noticed the tent was opened and a bunch of his soldiers held a redcoat, dragging him away into the forest. His gaze fell to the floor, checking Alexander's head for a wound. There was none; instead a blood leaking hole was on his side, just below his rips and above his hipbone. 

"The redcoat," Washington thought, "must have shot the boy, his boy." 

George dropped to his knees next to Hamilton. His tent flapped open again and the Marquis and Mulligan stood inside with shock written over their pale faces. Mulligan hurried off again, probably to find a doctor and Lafayette ran to his friend who was like a little brother to him. 

Alexander's head was resting on Washington's lap as Marquis struggled to get his own coat off. Once he succeeded he pressed the fabric over the wound, almost crying as the fragile boy let out a pained gasp. George hushed him as he stroked his hair, pulling back a few loose red curls. 

"I - I never i - intended to kill you. I - I wanted... I meant to kill myself since the beginning, sir." It seemed like every breath was hurting the boy and as he spoke his sentences got lost between attempts to steady his breathing. 

"This isn't the full truth, my boy. What happened and why did you mean to kill yourself?" 

"That redcoat. I met him yesterday and he - he threatened me. He - he said I have to kill you otherwise he would m - murder Lafayette, L-Laurens, Mulligan and me. I - I thought if-if I killed myself it would spare the unnecessary bloodshed. I-I didn't want... I never..." At the end he couldn't form any correct sets of words anymore as he began to drift in and out of consciousness. 

"Son, why didn't you tell me? I could've helped you." George was speaking peacefully, as if trying to calm a tiny child from a nightmare. 

"I-I was t-terrified."

In that moment Mulligan came running back, a doctor and Laurens at his heels. The doctor quickly examined the injured soldier to look for the bullet. The bullet, the tiny metal body that could destroy lives, was lodged under one of the boy's rips and the doctor prepared to get it out. Lauren's grabbed Alex's hand out of reflex and squeezed it tightly as the wounded man began crying and screaming in agony. George was still holding his head, hushing him and whispering gently. 

"Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huît, neuf."

He smiled at the memory of Alexander trying to teach his general French. He remembers the boy's laugh when he pronounced something wrong for the millionst time. He noticed Alex smile as well as he looked at Washington.

"It's neuf not noof, sir."

He started chuckling, tears falling as Alex's violet-blue eyes fell shut and he became limp. 

...................................................................................................................................................................................................................

On that day, 12th of January 1775, George Washington lost his only son without ever having the chance to tell him that he was his father. His son's tombstone would carry the wrong name; Hamilton instead of Washington and his birth- and death date would be much too similar, much too close to each other.

George's weeping didn't stop as he sat there, his son's head still in his lap. He looked up to see a crying Marquis hug his "brother's" limp frame, Laurens still clutching his hand, while tears escaped his eyes and Mulligan standing in the corner staring at his friend's body. The boy's father broke down again while looking at the scene.

"I love you my son. Dad is proud of you and all the things you have achieved. I wish I could've told you earlier but I was scared you wouldn't acknowledge me as your father. Because of me you lost your life way too early. You shouldn't have tried to protect me. It is my duty to protect you. It's the duty a father has."

George kissed his son's head one last time, pushing away the hair and standing up.

"I want to see the man who did this dead. I want to see him suffer!"


End file.
